


Fucking Fade Spirits and Fucking Inquisition

by Saiya_tina



Series: A Comedy of Assholes (Rhapsody, etc.) [41]
Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age II, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Dicks and Sass, M/M, Valor!Anton, because he's an idiot who picked up a stray, for a given definition of stable, inquisition era anton, rhapsody verse, somehow they're the stable couple
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-27
Updated: 2016-12-17
Packaged: 2018-05-16 17:07:08
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 14,397
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5833636
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Saiya_tina/pseuds/Saiya_tina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Continues on from Fucking Fade and Fucking Nightmare Demons.</p><p>Anton's back from the Fade and he's brought home a friend! Cullen's trying to keep both his relationship and his fiance from going off the rails while trying to keep his heart going through Anton's shenanigans. Why did he think it was a good idea to marry into the Hawke family again?</p><p>The Inquisition era except the Commander of the Inquisition has a husband who seems to cause as many problems as he solves.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> I'm am so bad at naming things. I am more than open to suggestions for a new title. Also, I realize I cop out of a perfectly good sex scene halfway through and I can't promise it won't happen again. I played sex chicken with the Hawke and the Hawke won. He knew I couldn't do it, the bastard.

“How’s it going?”

Anton blinked his eyes open, the image of the Fade disappearing as he focused on the figure in front of him. He smiled as Cullen came into focus and held out a hand that was gladly taken and kissed.

“Any progress?” Cullen asked, sitting down next to his husband on their bed.

“We’re getting there,” Anton said. “Valor’s a good listener. And you know how much a Hawke likes a good listener.”

“You’re walking him through the rules now?” Cullen asked, picking up the paper on the bed. The rules he and Anton had written down for the newly acquired spirit stared back at him. It was the result of days of consultation with anyone who had any knowledge of human-spirit relations.

Cullen had written to Solona, hoping she might have learned something about spirits in her journeys as a Warden. She wrote back to congratulate Anton on his new passenger and to inform them that while she had known someone who had hosted a Spirit, Wynne had passed a long while back and that she didn’t know what had happened to the Spirit of Faith. However, she had written a whole page on her understanding of Wynne’s relationship with the spirit and it had been overwhelmingly positive. That was probably the only reason Anton wasn’t trying something drastic to get the spirit out. 

That and the fact that Valor seemed to be rather tame, content to mostly remain dormant. He did have some rather strong opinions on War Table missions, however, which meant Anton leaving the meetings far earlier than he would like. Valor still seemed to struggle with strategies that weren’t simply “attack with valor!” Anton usually spent the time talking Valor down from doing something he’d regret, mainly talking the soldiers into defying orders. Valor was a great help, but he could be a Maker damned pain in the ass when he focused on something.

Anders was the next person to be written too. Well, Anders through Cormac. Once he reached Anders’ part of the letter, which had been buried under Cormac’s five pages of expletives and curses towards him, the Inquisition and Cullen, it had been informative. Anders knew what it was like to struggle with a strong-willed spirit and his advice was very helpful. The list had been his idea and he had some suggestions for it. They promised to visit when it was safer.

Cole had been the greatest help. Well, once he’d stopped giving Anton a wide berth. At first, he’d been skittish, sensing the Spirit of Valor and not knowing how to react to a spirit in a world outside the Fade where they normally turned into abominations. Valor and Compassion also didn’t associate much in the Fade, apparently. Anton made a point to keep his distance and allow Cole to come to him, which he knew he would. Cole never could resist a call for help. Cole provided Valor with valuable advice on how to acclimate with the real world.

“Valor’s been a very good student,” Anton said wryly, tugging the paper away from Cullen and dropping it on the bedside table, reclining as he went. “But he’s still a spirit. It took Justice years to reach a stage where he could exist in the real world without lashing out at anyone who didn’t leave an appropriate tip for the serving girl.” Maker, had that been a sight. Watching Justice loom over the frightened patron who had damn near wet himself before tossing a handful of coins at the girl and making a hasty retreat. 

“Well, he’s been doing well so far,” Cullen said, settling more firmly onto the bed, knee pressed against Anton’s thigh. “Anything he’s having a hard time grasping?”

“Mainly he doesn’t understand why everyone doesn’t “act with Valor and fight”,” Anton said, rolling his eyes. “It’s taking me time to explain that not everyone wants to chop someone’s head off whenever there’s a stupid argument going on. I’d have decapitated all my brothers if that worked.” A pause. “Carver twice.”

“With Bethany’s help, you probably could,” Cullen said with a chuckle. “Is there anything I can do to help?”

Anton smiled and turned to nuzzle Cullen’s cheek. “Not yet.” Cullen always offered, but they both knew there was little he could do now. Still, Anton knew how much it hurt Cullen to not be able to do anything but sit idly by while his husband tried to avoid turning into an abomination. He wished there was more he could to set Cullen’s mind at ease, but there wasn’t much. However, one thing usually worked out pretty well as a distraction.

“Well, sitting still for so long has made my muscles so very stiff,” Anton said, stretching out luxuriously on the bed. He moaned mostly for show, but with a little relief too. He wasn’t used to sitting still for that long, not since he’d returned from the Fade. “I could use a good set of hands rubbing that out.”

“Are you sure your muscles are what you want me to rub?” Cullen said, grinning as followed Anton’s recline, hands settling on his ribs. He ran a hand up slowly to finger the laces of his shirt.

Anton arched up enough to rub his knob against Cullen’s hip. “Actually, I think that is a muscle.” He rolled them over and pretended to sidle off the bed. “We could ask the healers if you want-”

“Later,” Cullen caught his arm and wrapped his other arm around his waist, spinning him back onto the bed and retaking his previous position atop him. “It might just be easier to make sure I rub everything. Just to be sure.”

“I admire your thoroughness, Commander,” Anton said, leaning up the little distance between them to lick the tip of Cullen’s nose and bringing his knee up to press between his thighs. “Make sure you don’t miss a spot.”

“You better not distract me then,” Cullen said with a groan, ears flushing at Anton’s ministrations. He gripped his husband’s wrists and pinned them over his head. “Those hands better stay there.”

“Afraid I’ll pick your pocket, good ser?” Anton asked, crossing his wrists and twisting around to appear more appealing. Judging by the gleam in Cullen’s eyes, he succeeded. “I’m an honest man. Feel free to frisk me if you doubt me.”

“I think I will,” Cullen said with a wicked grin, leaning down for a slow kiss. He pulled back when air became an issue and he couldn’t tell whose tongue was where. “Well, there’s nothing untoward in there. Nothing that doesn’t belong to you anyway.”

“I have been told I have a wicked tongue, messere,” Anton said, licking his lips. “But I’ve made both men and women sing its praises before.” 

“I don’t doubt it. I’ll be sure to put it to task later,” Cullen said. He kissed a path from Anton’s lips to his chin down to his neck. When he reached his chest, he took one of the laces between his teeth and took his time to unravel them. He smiled to himself when Anton’s breath hitched as his lips brushed his chest with each pull and kissed the area between his pectorals once he was done. “Now to check your pockets.”

“My pockets are a bit lower, messere,” Anton said with a raised eyebrow. Cullen bit his lip to hide his smile at Anton’s attempt to sound unruffled. He’d have pulled it off if he didn’t look so undone already with his shirt open and hair tousled appealingly. Cullen slid his hands under Anton’s shirt, pushing it up towards his armpits to bare everything for him. He let out a little whimper and Anton’s smile turned devious.

“I find it a little unfair that I’m the only one undressed, serah,” Anton said, hands flexing where they were lying. “I think you should even out the situation.”

“I think I’m the one giving the orders right now,” Cullen said, but he was getting a little hot under all the armor and keeping his weight off Anton was beginning to get tiring. “But you’re right. I can’t catch you if I’m weighed down with all this.” With that, he began undoing the catches of his armor but arousal and eagerness to get his hands back on hot, smooth skin made his fingers a little clumsier than normal. Anton watched him struggle for a few seconds before rolling his eyes and reaching down to help him, undoing catches and latches with a steady hand that made Cullen envious. He glared at Anton as he dropped the armor to the floor and the rogue just shrugged.

“I make my living by having quick, steady hands. Nothing short of paralysis or death is going to slow me down, darling, sorry to disappoint.” Anton made his point by undoing the laces of Cullen’s shirt in a couple of quick pulls. Cullen allowed it but then pinned Anton’s hands down to the mattress.

“Those hands make me lose control of the situation too quickly,” Cullen said, breath fanning over Anton’s lips. He ghosted a kiss over them, “This time, we do things my way.”

“I’m all yours, darling,” Anton murmured, curling his fingers to brush over Cullen’s hands. “Would it help if I promised not to touch anything below the belt?”

“I suppose that’s a fair compromise,” Cullen agreed. “Especially if I do this-” he slid down further on the bed, kissing a trail down from chest to navel, moving his lower body out of Anton’s reach, much to the latter’s displeasure.

“You are a filthy cheat, Commander,” Anton said, sounding as grumpy as someone could with someone else that close to their knob.

“I learned from the best.” Cullen moved his hands to grip his ass as he began to mouth along the forming bulge in his trousers. He yelped as Anton’s leg took advantage of the little space to press up against the matching bulge in his own pants. “Seems like I still have a lot to learn.”

“Well, I can’t let you put me out of business, now can I?” Anton grinned and wiggled his legs out from under Cullen to spread them properly. Cullen had a moment to appreciate the sight before he remembered what that move usually preceded.

“Anton, no-” Cullen let out an undignified scream as Anton’s legs locked around ribcage and he just had a moment to appreciate the sight of Anton’s abs flexing before he was being tossed to the other side of the bed, landing on his back with the rogue straddling him. Anton had his hands pinned in seconds and he settled on top of his hips, pinning them down. “I hate it when you do that.”

“You just hate that you always fall for it,” Anton snorted, leaning back slightly. Cullen’s retort died on his tongue as he watched his torso flex, feeling Anton’s fingers undo the laces on his trousers.

“It’s both hot and concerning how you can undo knots without looking at them,” Cullen said, reaching down to undo Anton’s.

“I’ll save that story for the future. Maybe for your birthday,” Anton sat up a bit to allow Cullen to pull his pants down enough for him to kick them off. He returned the favor before putting his weight on Cullen to pin him to the bed. “Right now, I pinned you and I think I deserve a prize.”

“By all means,” Cullen grinned. “I am all yours, my love.”

Anton’s idea of victory involved sucking Cullen’s brain out through his knob and rubbing himself off on the Commander’s impressive abdomen. By the time Cullen could string more than two words together that weren’t “Anton” or “yes”, Anton had them cleaned up and ready for a nap.

“If that’s what defeat tastes like, I’m rather okay with it,” Cullen said, curling his arm around Anton’s shoulders.

“Everyone’s a winner when I’m involved,” Anton grinned, rubbing his scruffy cheek against Cullen’s collar as he settled down. “I’m just such a positive force.”

“You’re something,” Cullen agreed. He pressed a kiss to the side of his head, “Think you can sleep now?”

“Sleeping isn’t the issue,” Anton groused. “I hate visiting the Fade all the time. I don’t know how mages do it.”

“They usually grow up with it,” Cullen said, giving him a squeeze. “You’ll get used to it.”

“Well, aren’t you a comfort?”

“Just think: you can explain orgasms to a Fade spirit.”

“Keep talking and the next dagger you deal with will be going through your kidneys. I liked you better as a blushing virgin.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah....this took a long time to get out. But doubled with the new job, I doubt I'm gonna get any faster. But enjoy!

Skyhold could be boring when there was no impending invasion. Cullen was managing his men, the Chargers were out on a mission, the Inquisitor had left for the Fallow Mire with Sera, Dorian and Cassandra and there was no way in hell Anton was going to tag along there. Corpses were a big no-no on his list of “Shit To Avoid.”

The clashing of daggers from the sparring ring drew his attention. Two of Leliana’s recruits were stabbing and slashing at each other while the others looked on. He sat up, legs dangling over the balustrade, watching the fight more carefully. One recruit was a decent fighter, but it was their opponent that really caught his attention. They were fast, like every scout was trained to be, but their blows were strong, not the glancing types aiming to wound slightly. It was an unusual technique.

He hopped down from the barracks, tucking and rolling to his feet as he hit the ground. The sound drew the attention of some of the spectators and they immediately gave way. Sometimes, it was good being Champion. By the time he reached the edge of the ring, the scout had their blade to their opponent’s throat. The opponent backed out of the ring and another scout stepped forward to take their place, but Anton put his hand on the person’s shoulder.

“Allow me,” he said and vaulted into the ring instead. This close up, he could see traces of Vallasin on the interesting scout and that just intrigued him more. He’d seen elven warriors before, hell, one married his brother, but elven rogues usually went for accuracy and speed rather than strength. This would be interesting.

“Don’t suppose you’d indulge me in a fight?” Anton said, bowing slightly with a grin. “I’d like to see your technique close up.”

“You’re the Champion, I’m pretty sure you could do whatever the hell you wanted,” the elf responded. They sounded like a woman, though Anton wasn’t sure. “Sure you want to? Might stain that nice shirt.”

“Well, if you manage to make me stain it, it’ll be well worth it,” Anton said, grinning widely now. He liked this person. He took out his daggers and twirled them as he got into a ready stance. “And I’ll even let you make the first move.”

“I already did,” the elf grinned and it threw him off enough that he stopped the swipe at his face a lot later than he normally would. That made his blood sing with excitement. It’d been a long time since he’d been able to fight just for the sake of fighting without the desperation that came from a world going to shit. 

“This is going to be fun,” he said like he wasn’t straining to keep a dagger from carving a line across his nose. He shoved the dagger away and countered with a stab to the elf’s midsection. It was deflected with ease and he blocked a stab to his shoulder with the movement. It was easy to lose himself in the thrust, block, stab, parry, swipe dance. The elf kept up with him the entire time, parrying every thrust and returning their own. He lost sense of how much time had passed and it was only the bell for dinner than broke him out of it.

He parried the next thrust and swiped for the elf’s stomach. They blocked, as he expected, but they didn’t anticipate him dropping his other dagger to grab their wrist and flip them over onto the ground. The elf grunted with the impact and Anton had a smaller knife pressed to their neck in a flash. The sparring ring was silent expect for a few whispers between some of the scouts and soldiers still watching. The whispers interrupted into cheers and Anton moved off the elf, holding out a hand to help them up.

The elf got up on their own, “That was cheating.”

“That is war,” Anton corrected. “When you’re fighting for your life, you do whatever it takes to win. That means playing dirty.” He grinned, “I never said I was a particularly honorable man.”

“You’re something,” the elf chuckled. “Never met a man or woman who fights with such ease. Looks like the stories are true.”

“Some of them. Varric tends to miss my better qualities and embellish the worse ones,” Anton shrugged. He paused, “Where did you learn to fight?”

“Where does any elf? I grew up in an Alienage, it comes with the territory,” the elf shrugged. “Taught myself.”

“I’ve never seen such a technique before,” he said, gesturing towards the exit of the ring. “You don’t see many rogues trying to get power into their swings.”

“Which is why they’ll never expect it. People expect rogues to just dance around. They never expect to see one charge them and pierce their armor.”

“It’s a good technique,” Anton agreed. “But you’re leaving yourself too open. If I wanted to, I could have hit your vital organs seven times.”

“You’re shitting me.”

“I never shit.”

“That’s not- I don’t leave myself open that much.”

Anton just raised an eyebrow.

“…You saw all that while fighting me?”

“I wouldn’t have lived this long if I wasn’t observant. Now, you have a good technique, all you need is a bit of refinement.”

“And where do I get “refinement” from, huh?” the elf scoffed. “Not like we have an instructor to learn from. The scouts all learn from each other. We just know enough to survive and that’s all we need.”

“But if you had an instructor, you would be interested?” Anton asked, musing.

“If they had something to offer me,” the elf shrugged.

“Well then,” Anton grinned widely and spread out his hands, “meet your new instructor.”

The elf stopped short, eyes wide, “What?”

“You can call me Your Majesty. Or Captain. Ooh, call me Commander! I’ve always wanted to be a Commander!”

“Wait, wait,” the elf held out their hands, like they were trying to ward him off. “What are you talking about?”

“You need an instructor. I need a student. I think this can be a mutually satisfying acquaintance, yes?” Anton patted them on the shoulder, “Your name?”

“Mutually- the others weren’t kidding when they said the Champion was nothing like the stories,” the elf muttered. “Ugh, my name is Ariane. Now speak plainly or I’m going to stab you.”

“Feisty, I love it!” Anton said cheerfully. “Well, Ariane, you have a lot of potential to be a right scoundrel and I don’t see that much. Or, well, I see it a lot, but I usually just laugh. You, I want to help. By the time I’m done with you, you’ll be picking pockets, stabbing harlequins and making a living through gambling just like me!”

Ariane’s mouth gaped. She shut it and squinted at him, “And what makes you think I want to learn anything from a shem?”

“Not from a shem,” Anton corrected, smirking, “but from the Champion of Kirkwall? Everything.”

“You keep saying the stories about you aren’t true though,” she countered.

“Ooh, smart too. You’re going to be a fine apprentice. Some of the stories aren’t true. For example, the escape from Lothering was all Cormac. The battles with the Arishok and the Knight Commander were team efforts. But I know you’ve heard the stories about Kirkwall’s Viscount. I’ve heard the rumors of course, I need to know what people expect of me and what I can get away with.” Anton twirled a dagger between his fingers, eyes on the light being reflected off the blade. “Of course, they don’t do me justice. But let’s just say the Crows aren’t involved nearly as much as people speculate.”

“Are you confessing to murdering some of the officials?” Ariane said slowly.

“Murdering? Goodness, no!” Anton said with conviction. “Merely misplacing. For a long, long period of time. I don’t take kindly to those who thinks the lower class are no better than rats. It’s just a bit ironic that they really have a reason to hate rats in the end.”

“You’re insane,” Ariane said, eyes wide with shock and a little bit of trepidation. “I’m talking to a madman.”

“There was a hole in the sky and now an ancient magister’s on the loose,” Anton said with a laugh. “Mad is the latest fashion.” He nodded towards the tavern, “I’ll give you some time to think about it. If you’re not interested, just leave. If you are interested in seeing just how magnificent you could be, I’ll be in there. I’ll buy you a pint.” He bowed lowly, “Until later then, my dear.”

He didn’t look back as he walked to the tavern. He didn’t want Ariane to feel threatened, but it was necessary to let her know what she would be getting into. He slid into a stool at the bar and ordered an ale. The drink was set before him just as a slighter body slid into the seat next to him.

“Just so you know, if I don’t like what you teach, I’m leaving,” Ariane said, snatching the drink from in front of him and taking a long sip.

“If you want to, I’d deserve it,” Anton gestured for another drink. “But I’ll warn you, I haven’t taught anyone before and I’ve never been taught myself. I can guide you, but how much of it will stick is up to you. My goal is to teach you what I know.”

“Then I’m your apprentice until I become your master,” Ariane said with a smirk and Anton grinned right back. Oh, he really liked her.

 

x-x-x

 

“What’s this I hear about you recruiting the recruits?” Cullen asked from the ladder as he climbed into his bedroom. Anton looked up from unbuckling his vambraces and gave him the most innocent look he could muster, which was more devilish than angelic.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about dear husband,” he said, tossing the vambraces onto the dresser in a way that just begged for Cullen to reprimand him. “I believe the recruits recruit themselves for the most part.”

“Anton, you seem to forget I’ve grown immune to your attempts to pull wool over my eyes. For the most part,” Cullen walked over and covered Anton’s hands with his own, forcing him to look at him. “Now are you going to tell me or must I use more dastardly measures?”

“Ooh, please make me,” Anton purred, turning his hands under Cullen’s to grip his in return. “I do so love it when I get a good reprimand.”

“I’ll be sure to schedule one for you in the next week,” Cullen said, pulling him around to stand between his legs as he sat down on the bed. His hands moved around to Anton’s waist and began to undo his sash. He slid it off and moved his hands further to caress his lower back, “Now, what are you up to?”

“Just a bit of fun,” Anton said, sliding his own hands up Cullen’s shoulders to cup his face. “You wouldn’t deny me a bit of sport, would you?”

“I would if you were going to create havoc that I would later have to clean up and, more likely, apologize for.” He twisted around and relished in Anton’s yelp as he tossed him onto his back on the bed. He grinned at his lover’s surprised expression as he pinned him down. “Now are you going to talk or do I need to make you?”

“Oh make me please,” Anton said, grinning like he’d been given a really big nameday gift. “Don’t have any mercy on a scoundrel like me, Serah!”

“Hush, knave,” Cullen leaned down for a slow kiss and shuddered when Anton licked his upper lip. “Speak only of what I have asked or I’ll be forced to take your tongue.”

“I thought you were rather fond of my tongue,” Anton said, arching up a bit to make Cullen’s pupils dilate. “I can’t say I’ve had any complaints. Do your worst, Serah, you won’t get anything from me!”

Later, when they were breathing hard next to each other, Cullen had a moment to be impressed that Anton really did hold up well under interrogation. But that way lay madness, nightmares and more sleepless nights than before so he changed his tack. He poked Anton’s shoulder with a finger, “Are you going to talk now?”

Anton let out a sleepy grumble and gave Cullen a look that had him wondering if he maybe shouldn’t have poked someone who had a reputation of ‘stab first ask questions later’ while they were lying half on him. Rather than a knife to the liver, Cullen squeaked as Anton pinched his side before settling back down on his chest with a sigh.

“I’m bored,” Anton said finally. “There’s nothing to do, you’re busy and I’m not allowed out on my own just yet. Which is stupid, by the way, I’ve more than recovered and there haven’t been any glowy muwahaha moments yet. I figure since I’m stuck here, I might as well be productive. Training the recruits will help me get back into shape too.”

“You could help out as an advisor instead.”

“You three already cover everything. If I can’t punch it, kill it or fuck it, I’m not all that interested.”

“Please tell me I’m ‘punch it’.”

“You know, after that last hour, I’m not so sure myself.”


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton's Home of Random Recruits picks up a new member. And Arianne wants to knock his block off.

Anton was at the sparring ring early, to his surprise and Arianne’s. Apparently, there were some perks to having a bed partner who insisted on getting up with the sun. And the lack of a roof or curtains in Cullen’s room didn’t allow for sleeping in. Anton would have been much more disgruntled if he weren’t half asleep from being awake at a time he usually went to bed.

“Are you sure we should be working with sharp things while you’re sleepwalking?” Arianne eyed him warily as he yawned.

“I’ve worked with enough daggers to be able to work them while half asleep,” Anton said with a grin as she wrinkled her nose in disgust.

“Shems,” she said, shaking her head. “Anyway, what are we doing today?”

“Well, first we’re going to draw our daggers,” he said and Arianne had hers out with a speed that nearly rivaled his. Oh, she was good. “And we’re going to set them aside.” He bit back a smile at her flummoxed expression as he laid his daggers, sheath and all, near the edge of the sparring ring. She followed him warily and set hers down as well, hands flexing like she could still feel the shadow of them. She was more used to daggers than he had thought. That would make the upcoming training more difficult.

“For our first day,” he drawled, “I want you to punch me.”

“Gladly, but why?” she said immediately.

“You won’t always have your weapons. In tough spots, a bit of bareknuckle punches can mean the difference between a bruised hand and a headless corpse.” He crouched a bit and held his hands up, palms open. “Let’s see if you can hit me.”

Arianne shrugged and put her fists up in a near perfect imitation of his own stance, “It would be an honor.”

“Thatta girl-” he swung his head out of the way as her hand lashed out towards his nose and idly wondered if he should be worried about the wide grin on her face as she swung again from his jaw. It was harder for her to reach his face with their height difference but that didn’t stop her from trying and he had to admit he was impressed with her stamina. Not so much with her technique, which was more “swing-for-everything” rather than with a clear plan, but that could come in handy too.

Her fist glanced past his hand and he grunted as it hit his side, but he didn’t drop his guard, deflecting each punch and quelling the instinctive urge to retaliate. He let her continue until the blows started losing some force and slowed down before deflecting the next hit hard enough to have her spin before he pinned her with a grip on both her wrists.

“Alright, rather good for a beginner,” he said, ignoring her outraged yelp and subsequent struggle. “Now let’s try it with me retaliating.” He let her go and barely swung his head back from the punch she aimed at his nose, this time with the intent to at least do some damage. Good. Anger was always a good motivator, even if it wasn’t the best one. This time, as she swung, he deflected and retaliated with a tap that substituted for a punch. He grinned at her frustrated snarl when he tapped her on the face and stomach as they went, not losing the smile even when she landed hits on him that were sure to bruise later.

Arianne landed a hook that promised a nice bruise on his jaw later and he dodged the next punch to grab her wrist, set his other hand behind her shoulder and lock her arm out straight, bringing her to the ground.

“Right then, I’d say we’re off to a great start!” he said, dusting his hands off as she groaned and rolled over in the dust. “Nothing like a bit of punching to get the blood flowing.” Literally, he thought as he touched his swollen lip, checking it for any traces that it was still bleeding.

“I hate you,” Arianne groaned.

“A common sentiment. Okay, now let’s try this again,” Anton rolled his shoulders and raised his hands up again, palms open. Arianne glared at him and didn’t even bother to get up from the ground.

“You know, when I agreed to let you train me, I expected we’d be working with daggers,” she said, scowling at him. “I’m tired of the punching.”

“Well, you’re not always going to have daggers with you,” Anton said, hands still up expectantly. “It’s important to be just as efficient with your barehands as with your daggers. Now I know this is a bit tedious, but the sooner you get the hang of it, the sooner we move into more interesting things.”

Arianne grumbled but heaved herself off the ground. She punched at him and Anton caught her fist and pushed it aside in time for the next time. They continued the routine until Arianne let out a growl and threw in an elbow that caught him right on the nose. He managed to turn his head enough to avoid any breaks but it still fucking hurt. He covered his nose with a hand and laughed loudly, “Oh, now you’re getting the hang of it!”

“What?” Arianne’s jaw dropped, hands fluttering between the urge to punch him again or make sure she hadn’t fractured anything. “You told me to just use punches!”

“And that’s your first lesson,” Anton said, tilting his head forward to let the blood drip out of his nose. “Rogues don’t follow anyone’s rules. Let the warriors fight for honor, rogues only fight for survival: that is what gives us the upper hand.” He gestured at himself and wiped the remaining blood off with his other hand. “Use everything you have at your disposal. Daggers, fists, poison, nails, teeth, anything, but make sure you walk out of that fight. Corpses have no need of honor.” He picked up a blunted sword and shield, “Come, now I’ll show you how to disarm a warrior. When you have no weapons, you’re on an even playing field and here, knowing how to fight barehanded comes in handy. Let’s see if you can get this sword out of my hand.”

Arianne narrowed her eyes and Anton was pleased to note she had automatically fallen into the stance he had shown her, body tilted away from him, hands up and at the ready, weight balanced evenly. He swung at her lazily and she dodged, grabbing his wrist and trying to pull him off balance. He shifted his weight forward deliberately to see what she would do and grunted in surprise as she kicked him hard in the side. His already lazy grip loosened enough for her to pull the sword of his grip and turn it on him, but he blocked it with the shield.

She’d already disarmed him and Anton started taking the fight a bit more seriously. She was clearly more experienced than he had anticipated and he hopped back, shield up and clanging with each blow. Arianne got closer with each swing and Anton tilted the shield to let her next blow skid off and then bashed her in the side with the shield. Arianne yelped and fell over with the force, sword skidding out of her hand.

“Lesson number two, don’t get cocky,” he said, sliding the shield off his arm. “The fight isn’t over until one of you is bleeding out and possibly limbless. Nice work on getting the sword, but you can’t just start swinging: there needs to be a strategy there.” He rolled over onto his back next to her when she didn’t get up. “Come on, I didn’t hit you that hard.”

“I usually end up on the floor. Figured I’d just start out here,” she said, before smacking him in the side. “And that hurt by the way.”

“Sorry, I suppose with these rippling muscles, I tend to forget my own strength. Now, how could we have avoided that?”

“I could have told you to piss off when you offered to train me,” Arianne said and Anton laughed. “I supposed I should have kept my distance rather than press on as much as I did.”

“Uh, you could, you know, wait for him to shield bash you then dodge and attack from the side,” came a voice from their side. They turned their heads to see a human male standing just outside the sparring ring, looking at them like he was sure his advice would be met with a dagger to the heart.

“Not a bad strategy,” Anton said, glancing back at Arianne before looking back at the man. “You there, what’s your name?”

“Me?” the man, barely more than a boy really, looked around a bit before pointing at himself. Anton bit back a grin and nodded. “Oh! I’m, uh, my name’s Sutherland, Champion!”

“Well met, Sutherland.” Anton sat up, “Now then, are you part of the Inquisition’s forces?”

“No, Champion, I just came up to warn the Inquisitor of bandits stalking their patrols,” Sutherland said. “I tried to stop them myself but they had swords and I don’t. If the Inquisitor allows, I want to help.”

“Bandits stalking the patrols, are they?” Anton murmured, stroking his chin. “Arianne, are you up for a hunt? I find myself craving skewered bandit something fierce.”

“I’m always up for skewered bandit,” Arianne said, sitting up with new vigor. She eyed Sutherland before turning to Anton, “Think we should bring the new shem with us?”

“I don’t know, let’s ask the new shem,” Anton shrugged. He shouted to Sutherland, “Interested in joining us?”

“It would be my honor, Champion!” Sutherland said, sounding like he’d been presented with a cartload of nameday gifts and a naked whore. “But I don’t have a weapon.”

“Don’t worry about that, Arianne will teach you what to do. And if she doesn’t do a good job, just go hide in a tree. Bandits don’t climb trees for some reason,” Anton said, standing up and dusting himself off. “Why is that, I wonder? If I were a bandit, I’d climb trees all the time. Imagine: patrol underneath you and then BOOM death from above! Arianne, I’m going to teach you how to be death from above. No student of mine won’t drop on someone’s head from a tree!”

Sutherland’s enthusiasm waned a bit as Anton continued ranting about trees and underutilized potential and he eyed Arianne warily, “Should I have said yes?”

“No, but this proves you’re mad enough to survive him,” she said. “Welcome to the asylum, Sutherland.”


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton takes the company out for a stroll. And Arianne still wants to deck him. Sutherland is beginning to regret his life choices.

“So any sign of your bandits?” Anton asked, looking around as he and Arianne followed Sutherland through the dense woods of the Storm Coast. The constant rain was beginning to weigh down his armor and he was wishing he’d left it with the Inquisition Camp they had passed an hour back. Arianne had gone for the light armor of the scouts and was strolling ahead like it was a bright, sunny day. Anton tried not to think uncharitable thoughts but abandoned the effort when she smirked at him.

“The Champion isn’t used to walking?” Arianne said, “Should we carry you on our shoulders?”

“Why, Arianne! I’m flattered with your interest, but I’m afraid even your fair features can’t match to my dear husband’s,” Anton said, fluttering his eyelashes at her. “But if you want a little dalliance, I noticed a cozy nook under that boulder we passed five minutes ago. Sutherland can keep lookout. Or join us if he’s so inclined.”

Sutherland tripped over his feet at that proclamation while Arianne punched him hard in the arm. Anton dodged her next punch with a grin as Sutherland coughed, trying to hide a raging blush.

“Yes, well, back to the bandits,” he said roughly. “The scouts said they’d made camp over the next bluff so we should nearly be there.”

“Well, then, Arianne, how about we make this interesting?” Anton turned to her, grinning. Arianne raised an eyebrow to show she was listening. “Challenge: if there’s less than seven of them, we go at it barehanded. No weapons.”

Sutherland sputtered out objections but Anton could see the gleam in Arianne’s eyes. He knew he had her even before she nodded. “Deal,” she said. “But if I get more than you, you have to take over my early morning shift for a week.”

Anton shuddered comically, “In the daylight? Fine, you fiend. But if I win, you have to call me ‘your Majesty’ when we spar for two weeks.”

Arianne looked like she had bitten into a lemon, but she held her hand out and Anton shook it with a somber air. Sutherland had paled considerably and Anton mused whether he was beginning to regret his decision to leave this to them rather than bring it to the Inquisitor.

Sure enough, the camp of bandits was right where the scouts had said it was. They crouched in the bushes near the camp, taking stock of the numbers of men and Anton noticed, with dismay, a few Mabari also lying near the fire. Fuck, he hated fighting Mabari. Not only were they fast and fierce, but it felt like killing a family pet. 

“There’s twelve men and five Mabari,” Anton murmured to Arianne. “My biggest concern are the dogs. They could overwhelm us. Suggestions?”

Arianne’s eyes ticked over the camp, lingering near the fire. “I may have something for that. A little recipe I picked up from a merchant in the Hinterlands. I’ll take care of the dogs.”

“Sutherland, how good are you with that sword?” Anton nodded towards the longsword at his hip.

“Decent enough to hold my own, Champion,” Sutherland answered promptly. Anton took that to mean ‘can avoid chopping my foot off’.

“Alright then. Stay here and provide cover for Arianne as she does her part,” Anton said. “Wait for my signal and then give them hell.”

Arianne caught his arm as he turned, “What’s the signal?” Anton flashed her a grin and walked up to the nearest tree, jumping up to catch a branch and heave himself up. “You’ll know it when you see it,” he said, climbing up higher and then disappearing in the foliage.

“How are we supposed to just KNOW the signal?” Sutherland whispered to her frantically, drawing his sword and shield. She rolled her eyes but mentally noted that he hadn’t stalled despite the odd instructions. Perhaps he had more to him than she initially expected.

“A man doesn’t fight the Arishok and become Viscount of an insane city without some eccentricities of his own,” she said instead. “But he always delivers. Whatever the signal, we’ll know it when we see it.”

They waited for a few minutes, waiting for any sight or sound that could signal a time to strike. Then the men all shot to attention, staring in the opposite direction of them, hands reaching for swords and the ears of the dogs perking up. The relaxed atmosphere had turned tense in a matter of seconds and Arianne knew a signal when she saw one.

“Sutherland, get ready,” she said and threw her special recipe right over his head and into the camp. The grenade exploded, spraying sticky tar and fire all over anything in the splash zone, especially the dogs. They howled as the tar stuck to their fur and ran frantically, trying to escape the pain. A couple of the bandits had also been caught in the blast radius and they were screaming, frantically trying to peel the burning tar off without burning themselves further. 

The others turned in the direction and started to charge. Sutherland braced himself as they hurtled towards him and then nearly dropped his sword in shock as Anton leapt down from the trees and stabbed the first two of the crowd right in their throats. He continued his momentum by tucking and rolling, dodging past two other and turning the daggers in his hands to slice the tendons behind their knees, bringing them to the ground. Just like that, the numbers were halved and Arianne darted out from behind Sutherland to counter a swing of the sword with a dagger and bury the other one in the bandit’s chest. Sutherland barely brought his shield up in time to block another bandit, mind still trying to catch up with what had just happened.

“Arianne, we’re down to five, remember our challenge!” Anton called, drawing the attention of two of the remaining bandits who turned to swipe at him. Sutherland’s eyes nearly bugged out when he saw the Champion put his daggers away before grabbing one bandit’s arm as he swung and twisting it around to block the other sword. He kicked the bandit in the stomach, sharp spur stabbing through cleanly and causing the bandit to stagger back. He kneed the other one in the face and then slammed his palm into his neck. The bandit fell to the ground choking as Anton moved onto the one who was still clutching his stomach. The bandit dodged his first punch and his second, grabbing his arm and to wrestle him into a chokehold.

Sutherland’s eyes widened and he struggled to push back against his opponent to make it to Champion. Maker, the Inquisitor would kill him if he found out Sutherland got the Viscount of Kirkwall killed on a small excursion with bandits, even if it was said Viscount’s idea. He used his shield to block a swing that nearly took his head off.

“Focus,” Arianne barked, dodging a heavy swing and punching the bandit in the side of the head as he struggled to balance himself. “Anton’s fine, don’t take your attention off your opponent.” She pressed her advantage, throwing out short, sharp punches to the neck and groin before grabbing a knife from the bandit’s belt and slitting his throat open as he tried to swing again. She threw the knife at the other bandit, hitting him in the eyes and bringing him down dead.

Anton struggled to get the bandit off him but it was easier said than done. He’d underestimated just how hard a grip these mini-ogres tended to have. Their struggles brought them closer and closer to the tree line and Anton heaved his entire body in that direction. When he was close enough, he held on tightly to the bandit’s arm and leapt up, planting his feet against the tree and then leaping again to slip through his grasp and land behind him. Before the bandit could turn around, he kicked his knees out from beneath him and then snapped his neck with a quick movement.

Sutherland took the advice to heart and shoved his opponent back. The next swing, he allowed to slide off his shield in order to get in close and plunge his sword into the bandit’s stomach. He was so elated at the quick kill that he didn’t even notice the last bandit sneaking up on him until he heard Arianne’s cry of warning and turned to see the sword already coming down. He instinctively closed his eyes in preparation for the pain or numbness or whatever you felt when your head was about to sliced in two but nothing seemed to be changing. He heard Arianne murmur something and Anton hum in what sounded like curiousity and cautiously blinked his eyes open to see an expanse of white. His eyes slowly focused and the blank white blob began to gain sharp, turning long, opaque and shiny. Like a slab of ice. He slowly inched back and his vision took in the sight of a frozen statue where a bandit had once been.

“Primal magic,” Anton murmured, stepping up and sliding a finger over the icy blade that had nearly killed Sutherland. “Strong magic too. Haven’t seen this since the Hinterlands.” He looked over at the treeline, “Would you care to come out?”

Silence. Then an elven man stepped out into the clearing, staff in hand. It still had traces of frost clinging to it, shining brightly in the sunlight. Anton was a little reminded of the elf that hung around in Skyhold’s main tower, Solost or Somas or something. This mage wasn’t nearly as expressive however, his face stony like the elven keepers Anton had seen sometimes when they traveled. 

“Thanks for the aid,” Sutherland spoke up, “I would’ve been dead if not for you.”

The elf nodded his head, but didn’t say anything much beyond that. Anton supposed he was the strong, silent type.

“Are you heading anywhere or just traveling?” Anton asked. The elf didn’t say anything. “Right, so are you travelling with others?” More silence.

“Would you like to come to Skyhold with us?” Sutherland blurted out, before looking abashed when Anton turned towards him. “I mean, I don’t mean to presume, Champion-”

“Maker’s breath, Sutherland, you can’t just tell someone to come home with you on the first meeting,” Anton said with a sigh. “Doesn’t your generation court anymore?”

“’Your generation’?” Arianne raised an eyebrow, “You’re barely older than either of us.”

“Shush, child, keep your pretty lies to yourself.”

“I am not a child!”

“You’re like ten years old.”

“I’m twenty seven you bastard!”

“Excuse me, I know who my parents were and I assure you the marriage was completely legitimate,” Anton said, offended.

Sutherland turned to the new elf, “I’d apologize, but I have a feeling they’re always like that. We could use a mage of no small talent like you. Would you consider joining us?”

The elf didn’t say anything, but Sutherland thought he looked a little less stern. Maybe it was just his imagination.

In the background, Arianne threw a punch at Anton that he barely dodged right before she stepped on his foot hard enough to make even the battler of the Qunari yelp.

“Great!” Sutherland said with a wide smile tinged with hysteria. “You won’t regret it.”


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A moment with Cullen, a talk about tattoos, a race and Arianne has her first encounter with Anton's "roommate".

Anton would never get tired of seeing Cullen’s smile when he returned to his office to find him sitting on the desk, thumbing through some of the reports. If he had his way, they’d never leave the bedroom, but Cullen was busy, increasingly so each day, and if he didn’t find something else to do, he’d go nuts. Bran had heard of his little stint in the Fade and sent him enough paperwork to make even Cullen cringe. Anton turned half of it into confetti for their return from the Storm Coast with a new friend. The remaining half was currently being used to hold their lunch.

“I heard you found a new friend,” Cullen said, taking a seat at his desk but not before locking his office door. Lunch with Anton was rarely as innocent as it sounded.

“I’d say he found us,” Anton said, unwrapping some crusty bread and handing it to Cullen on a particularly colorful letter from a Kirkwall magister. “Sutherland’s going to be telling that story for years.”

“He’s a good man,” Cullen said, uncorking the wine and pouring them both a glass. “I’m glad you took him out. There was a bit of argument as to whether we should just put him to work elsewhere.”

“He’s determined to serve, I doubt he’d have been happy just being put to grunt work,” Anton tipped his glass at Cullen. “He’s a little raw when it comes to combat, but Arianne will straighten that out soon enough. She’s a godsend.”

“So who’s the new recruit again?” Cullen took a large bite of the bread.

“An elven mage. He said his name’s Voth. Well, rather, Sutherland asked him who he was and he said ‘voth’. I’m not sure if that’s a name, title or clan and the man’s not willing to say more, but I figured we need all the help we can get. It also helps that he’s a healer.” Anton thought about Anders and idly wondered where he and Cormac were now. He’d send a letter later.

“Three recruits now? Do you plan to form your own Inquisition?” Cullen said teasingly and Anton looked scandalized.

“Nothing so legal, please! Are you trying to ruin my reputation?” Anton said with mock appall but Cullen’s smile ruined any attempt at keeping a disgusted expression on. Maker, how did he ever lie to this man? “Not an Inquisition, but… a branch? Or a troupe? Or a-”

“A company?” Cullen offered. “Like the Iron Bull?”

“Exactly!” Anton pointed the last remaining piece of cheese at him. 

“Well, far be it for me to stop you,” Cullen said, holding his hands up like Anton was wielding a dagger rather than a partially eaten slice of cheese. Then again, Cullen expected Anton probably knew how to kill a man with it. He still jumped when Anton’s thighs squeezed around his neck during more… pleasurable activities, recalling Anders’ slightly horrified and equally awed retelling of the night he had seen Anton kill a man with his thighs.

“How is the Inquisition doing otherwise?” Anton asked, wiping crumbs off the desk. “Any new developments?”

“Something you might be interested in, actually,” Cullen said, “We’ve been invited to the Peace Talks in the Winter Palace. Gaspard has asked the Inquisitor to be present as his guest, so it’s likely we’ll be leaving for Orlais soon.”

“Ah, Orlais. They do know how to throw a good party,” Anton said, recalling wyverns and Duke Paucity De Rochfort. “No doubt a ploy on Gaspard’s part to appear a more capable candidate. It’s risky, but it’ll pay off if the Inquisitor manages to play the court right.”

“And what are the chances of that happening?” Cullen asked, but the twist of his mouth matched Anton’s.

“Let’s just say, the Inquisitor is going to need every advantage.”

dl-dl-dl-dl

“You know, I’ve been meaning to ask you something,” Arianne said, looking up from the daggers she was sharpening. Anton glanced at her before returning most of his attention to Sutherland and Voth. Voth was healing some of the knocks Sutherland had taken during their sparring session. Arianne had walked away with just a busted lip that took seconds to heal, a feat for Sutherland who normally lost his sword within the first few minutes of the spar. But he was becoming more confident and it showed in his technique.

“Hm?”

“What is that tattoo on your face?” she waved a finger at her own, tracing the rough lines of his tattoo. “The Dalish have something similar, I think they call it Valla-something-”

“Vallaslin,” Anton corrected, remembering Merrill talking about her own marks.

“Right, that. Is it something like that? I’ve seen other humans with it too.”

“Nothing like that,” Anton said with an amused smile. “Humans just get them done for decoration most times. Sometimes it means something to them. Something symbolic. There was a man in Lothering who got his wife’s name tattooed on his arm. Cormac has a tattoo too.”

“So what’s yours?” Arianne asked, squinting at blue ink. “Is it symbolic?”

“No, I just liked the pattern,” Anton said, smile smooth. “The man who taught me how to cheat at cards had the same tattoo and I really liked it, so I got mine. I think I was around 13 at the time.”

“Riiiight,” Arianne said slowly. Damn, he trained her a little too well. “Well, okay. But didn’t it hurt?”

“Not as much as the beating I got when mum discovered what I’d done,” Anton said, chuckling. But hell, Leandra had one hell of a hand when she was truly angry. “She tried to convince my father to get it removed but he refused. Said that if I was old enough to help support the family, I was old enough to get a tattoo. I think it was one of the few times they truly fought in front of us. Mum was livid, wouldn’t talk to dad for days. He got her to come around though. Surprisingly, dad was the one who was furious when Cormac got his tattoos but I guess he'd reached a state of silent suffering when I got mine. Or he just knew no one would remember me if I didn't want them to. Maker, we made it hard on them at times.”

Sutherland was finally moving without wincing and Anton pushed off the fence. “Alright, it’s getting dark so let’s call it quits for today. Sutherland, get some rest. Voth, you too and get a lyrium potion from the quartermaster as well. Arianne, you and I are going to do some drills before supper.”

“Ugh,” Arianne said, sheathing her daggers and following him towards the barracks. “I hope you realize the Commander is going to kill us if he catches us.”

“But that’s the fun of it!”

Anton’s “drills” was basically a run across Skyhold but with obstacles in the forms of long drops, windows and, on one memorable occasion, the Commander himself. Arianne didn’t think she’s ever forget the Commander’s wide eyed surprise right before Anton vaulted right over him. They’d laughed themselves sick recounting it at the end.

“Okay, so usual route: counter-clockwise around Skyhold,” Anton said, stretching out his legs. “So first stop is the front gate. Next the stables. From there, we get onto the barracks and get into the main hall. Next is the main Tower, then the blacksmith’s and finally the Tavern. Where the loser buys.”

“Get ready to loosen those purse strings, rich boy,” Arianne said with a grin. “I think I’m going to be drinking the good stuff tonight.”

“Oh, my sweet naïve child, I shall take great pleasure in dashing your dreams,” Anton hopped lightly on his feet. “Ready?”

“I’m already halfway there!” Arianne took off like a shot before Anton even started counting down. He gaped at her back for a moment before a proud grin took over and he followed suit. Arianne maintained her lead up until they reached the stables. While it took her a while to ascend the stairs up to the barracks, Anton had just scaled the stables themselves and landed on the barracks seconds ahead of her. Arianne had just about caught up to him when they reached the Main Hall and her smaller stature allowed her to dart past the crowd without any accidents while Anton had to be more careful. The path to the main Tower had scaffolding all over it and she bit back a curse as she tried to maneuver her way through it as quickly as possible. Anton didn’t bother, using the wall as a springboard to leap onto the first level of the scaffolding and just running across it to land ahead of her on the other side.

“I can already taste the whiskey,” he called, turning around to jog backwards in front of her.

“You’re going to taste my fist in a minute!” Arianne growled, chasing after him. Then dropped onto the Blacksmith’s roof together and she elbowed him aside to duck through the window first. She heard Anton cursing and grinned, taking the steps two at a time to get down quickly. She exited the armor right before Anton landed besides her, scaring the hell out of her as he rolled and took off running again.

“Did you just jump off the damn roof?” she called, sparing a glance back to marvel at the height before pouring on the speed. They were just barely 50 metres from the tavern.

“I’m jumped from higher,” Anton called back. Arianne grabbed his shirt from behind and he yelped, but their hands landed on the door of the tavern together. Panting and grinning at the same time, Arianne choked out a laugh she really didn’t have air for.

“Getting slow, Champion,” she said between breaths, “maybe you need more training.”

“I would have won if not for the incredibly deceitful tactics you employed,” Anton said, more winded than he would have been before. Fucking Fade. “I’m both proud and appalled. I’m proud-palled.”

“Learned from the best,” Arianne said, punching his arm lightly, “you should take lessons from him too.”

Anton chuckled and opened his mouth to offer they buy their own drinks when a derisive snort from the side had him tensing. Years of underground dealing had him tuned to when shit was going to go down and he turned to see a group of soldiers giving them a look that held nothing but disgust.

Arianne’s grin fell, replaced by a blank slate as she picked up on his new focus and she turned around to give the soldiers a cool look. “What are you staring at?”

“The Inquisition’s really goin’ to the dogs, innit?” one of them sneered, clearly the leader of the group, face blotchy and red either from drink or anger. “Knife ears and robe sympathizers. Some holy organization.”

“You think the Inquisition is a holy organization?” Arianne snorted. “My, I can see they recruited you for your brains.”

“Now, now, this is a rare specimen!” Anton drawled, drawing himself to his full height behind her. “Very rare to see a man whose small brain is in the upper head.”

The man’s face turned red and Anton idly wondered if he’d start foaming at the mouth. “You shut your mouth,” he growled. “May have everyone else convinced you’re some big man, but you’re just a fucking refugee that got lucky.”

“I wouldn’t say I got lucky,” Anton shrugged. “Everything you’ve heard? Completely true.” He looked around at the other men behind the leader, who were beginning to look a little doubtful. “Now you tell me: is it really a good idea to pick a fight with a man who even the Carta fears crossing?”

“Carroll,” one man spoke up quietly, “maybe we should go-”

“Big words from a small man,” Carroll scowled, drawing out his sword. “Let’s see if you can still wag your tongue after I cut it out!” He swung wildly and Arianne jerked back in reflex. The sword was stopped inches away from her face by a forearm bracing a very familiar dagger.

“Last warning,” Anton said and Arianne nearly shivered at the ice in his voice. He urged her to the side and she reluctantly moved. “Walk away and all will be forgiven. Carry on and you accept the consequences, whatever they are.”

“I ain’t afraid of no Fereldan noble,” Carroll bit out, swinging again. Anton blocked his next blow with the same dagger, other hand behind his back out of the way. Carroll growled and swung again and again, each blow deflected or dodged. Arianne wanted to jump in, but Anton had the matter well in hand so she took the time to just watch him. Carroll had an obvious strength advantage, but he was clumsy. It was obvious Anton could have him at knife point any time he wanted, but he was playing with him, she realized. Making him look like an ineffectual fool. And it was working: Carroll’s posse were looking very uncomfortable now and the fragments of whispers she could hear weren’t in Carroll’s favor.

Anton seemed to tire with the little game and he dodged Carroll’s next swing, twirling behind him and the dagger spun in his hand, settling blade out against Carroll’s throat, cutting a fine line that threatened to bleed. “Now then,” Anton said, softly with an edge that was as sharp as the dagger, “apologize to my talented friend. Who, by the way, will do more for the Inquisition than you could ever hope to.”

Carroll grit his teeth but Anton dug the knife in just a hair breadth more. “Sorry,” he gritted out.

“Good man,” Anton said, dagger flicking away and back in his belt. “Now, get out of here before I decide to let her have a go at you too.”

If looks could kill, Anton was sure he’d be lying on the floor with a sword through his chest, but Carroll stepped back. He watched him walk back to his group before turning to Arianne and putting an arm around her shoulders, “Now then, as I was saying-”

They both heard the crunching of grass before the war cry. Arianne wheeled around to see Carroll swinging his sword at Anton’s head and she shoved him back before it made contact. Her other hand went for a dagger and Carroll changed his target, swinging for her but this time when Anton stopped the blade it wasn’t with a dagger.

Carroll’s eyes widened, looking from the sword being held back with a bare hand wrapped around it to Anton. He strained to pull the blade back by Anton’s grip didn’t falter, tightening before yanking the sword out of Carroll’s grip.

“Attacking from behind,” Anton gritted out, but his voice sounded…odd. “A cowardly technique in itself. To do so outside of battle is unforgivable.” He advanced on Carroll, who blanched and hastily stepped back. “You are unworthy of the title of a soldier. Indeed, you are unworthy of your life as well and it would be my pleasure to end it.” Arianne jumped forward then, grabbing Anton’s arm and yanking him back.

“I know he’s a dick but we can’t kill him!” she said, though a big part of her just wanted to kill Carroll herself, but she knew what that would mean. An elf killing a human soldier? They didn’t need that divide now.

“Cowards deserve only one fate,” Anton turned to her but she was sure this wasn’t him. Anton didn’t kill unless he had to. Anton didn’t refuse to show mercy. And Anton definitely didn’t usually look like he was glowing from the inside

“Killing an unarmed man isn’t exactly brave,” she blurted out and Anton froze. She could see a battle going on there as he trembled before he closed his eyes, took a long breath and the ethereal glow began to fade. When he opened them again, his eyes were still a bright blue, but no longer looking like they were glowing.

“She’s given you your life,” he said, turning back to Carroll. “I would take it. Leave and if I see you anywhere near Skyhold, I will make sure no one sees you again.”

Carroll didn’t say anything further, running like his arse was on fire. Anton snorted before looking at a very expectant Arianne.

“So,” she drawled, “any chance you have something you want to tell me?”

“Well, you drool in your sleep, I think Sutherland has a crush on me," Anton paused, "and I may be an abomination."


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Arianne is taking the news surprisingly well and Cullen just wants one damn moment with his husband.

Arianne tossed back the last of her ale and the tankard thunked loudly against the counter as she nearly slammed it down. Anton sipped his a bit more slowly but gestured for the bartender to refill hers. Arianne nearly drank that just as quickly, but slowed down halfway through. 

“So…” Arianne said slowly, slurring just a little bit. “You got stuck in the Fade.”

“Yup.”

“For weeks.”

“Yup.”

“And you got possessed.”

“Essentially.”

“And that little stunt there, that was the demon.”

“He’s not a demon, but yes.”

She raised an eyebrow at him. “Abominations are demons.”

“Well, maybe abomination is a strong word, but there isn’t exactly a word for people living with a Fade spirit in their heads.” Anton shrugged. “And that’s usually what we eventually turn into, but that’s not always the case.” Anders and Justice for one, but he wasn’t going down that rabbit hole just yet.

“Well, you are too pretty to be an abomination,” Arianne agreed. “But how much does it influence you? Does it…take over?”

“Well, to start out, what happened back there was the first time Valor has made an appearance since I met him,” Anton said, taking a swig to stall for time. “He’s usually quite happy doing… whatever spirits do, I suppose.”

“And what do they do?” Arianne asked, eyes still sharp despite the slight stumbling words. “Because I’ve never heard of spirits being content to just sit around.”

“It’s not very common,” Anton shrugged, “the one person I’ve heard of who had a spirit companion that didn’t manifest often was a friend of the Hero of Ferelden, currently deceased.” No reason to mention Anders or Justice. “You can’t exactly research this sort of thing. And even then, it’s even rarer for this to happen for a non-mage.”

“So this spirit saved your life,” Arianne said slowly, weighing out each word. “And now he’s stuck with you. But he doesn’t usually manifest.”

“Think about that for a few months and you’ll be where I am now,” Anton said. “Now, is this going to be a problem?”

Arianne gave him a sharp glance but Anton stared back placidly. They maintained eye contact for a bit before Arianne let out a short huff.

“Maybe. You say he hasn’t manifested much, but I still don’t know you well enough to always tell if you’re lying. I’ll keep it to myself though, Maker knows, we don’t need word getting out that the Champion’s an abomination, even if he is a nice looking one.”

“Flattery will get you everywhere,” Anton tipped his tankard in her direction. “I’ll keep my distance if that’ll make you more comfortable.”

“Don’t do that,” she shook her head, “that’ll just make things awkward. We carry on like normal, but if you so much as glow weird around me or the others, I’m knifing you.”

“A bit of an overreaction, but I’ll accept on the grounds that I’m allowed to defend myself.”

“Deal.” She pushed her chair back, “and you’re paying, of course. Since the demon gave you an unfair advantage.”

“Hey, that was all me!”

“Still an unfair advantage,” she waved at him as she walked off.

x-x-x-x-x-x

“So Arianne knows I’m an abomination.”

“You’re not an abomination,” came the automatic reply before Cullen actually tore his attention away from his papers. “Wait, what?”

“There was an… incident with a few unsavory volunteers,” Anton said delicately, the way he usually did when he was about to give Cullen a few new gray hairs. “And Valor maaaay have made an impromptu dramatic entrance.”

“Are you okay?” Cullen asked. Maker bless the man, he always had his priorities straight. At least when it came to him.

“Fine, not even a scratch, thanks to Valor. But he blew our cover and I can’t guarantee no one else saw what happened. It wasn’t very obvious, but Leiliana does employ a special caliber of spy.” Anton moved some important looking papers aside and sat on the desk. “Then again, I’m pretty sure she already knows. Little slips by that woman.”

“Maker,” Cullen leaned back in his chair with a sigh. “I suppose it was too much to expect that Valor would remain under wraps forever.”

“That happens when dealing with a spirit that little is known about,” Anton shrugged. “But at least now we have an idea of what can trigger him. Cowardice, surprisingly. I thought it would be acts of… well, valor.”

“It’s not like acts of justice made Justice manifest,” Cullen said dryly. “Normally, the lack of them.” He shifted his chair closer and rested a hand on Anton’s hip, coaxing him to turn towards him. “You’re really alright?”

“I’m fine, mother hen,” Anton rolled his eyes, kicking Cullen’s chair lightly. “And I would have been, even without Valor. I can take care of myself, you know.”

“I know, I know, that doesn’t stop me from worrying though,” Cullen coaxed him down for a slow kiss, barely a press of lips until Anton licked his way into his mouth. As did most things including them, things got heated up rather quickly before being interrupted by a knock on the door. Cullen let out a frustrated scream that Anton wanted to echo as they put themselves in reasonable order so that they didn’t give some poor recruit an eyeful.

“I’m going to toss the next person to touch that door off the roof,” Cullen snarled, not even bothering to tuck his shirt back in. He threw open the door, “What?!”

The recruit looked like he would wet himself. “Ah, the Inquisitor has asked to meet with the advisors. Commander. Sir.”

“I’ll be there.” Cullen slammed the door shut and then banged his own head against it for good measure. Anton tsked and put his hand in between to prevent another headbutt.

“Now, don’t dash your pretty brains out, dear, I’m sure it won’t take long,” he said, pressing a kiss to the back of Cullen’s head.

“I don’t want to have a meeting, I just want to go to bed with you,” Cullen said plaintively. “Why does the world keep conspiring to keep me from my husband?”

“We have been having a rough few years, haven’t we?” Anton said softly. He moved his arms around Cullen’s shoulders, leaning against his back with his cheek pillowed against the back of his shoulder.

“Just once,” Cullen moved his hand up to cup Anton’s. “Just once, I’d like to be able to go home to you and not worry about mages or Templars or the world coming to an end. Just once I’d like to do some minor, insignificant job and know that at the end of the day, I’m going to be sleeping next to the man I love. Just once, I’d like to not worry that one of us won’t make it home at the end of the day.”

Anton’s breaths stuttered against his back. Cullen squeezed his hand and Anton returned the gesture. “I had no idea you felt that way,” he said finally.

“I may not have imagined a farmer’s life when I was young,” Cullen said with a tired chuckle, “but I think I’ve had all the excitement I can handle for one lifetime. I’ve spent more than half my life in the service of others, or so I like to think, and I’d like to spend the remnants of it in service to you.”

Maker, Anton could never figure out how Cullen could say things like that and make it sound completely genuine. He really lucked out. “You service me plenty.”

That startled a laugh out of Cullen and Anton smiled at hearing the echo of it in his bones. “One track mind,” Cullen teased.

“Only when you’re around,” Anton brushed a kiss against his ear. “Though, what you describe sounds… nice.”

“Really? I thought you’d find it boring.”

“Maybe with someone else,” Anton admitted. “But with you? That sounds… it’s something I would like to see.”

“Maker willing, we will,” Cullen picked up his hand to press kisses to it and then coaxed him off with a reluctant sigh. “Well, I better make myself presentable.”

“You’re very presentable already,” Anton said with a leer and an appreciative once over that made Cullen flush.

“Stop it, I can’t go into a meeting with my knob at full mast.” The glare would have been much more effective if he wasn’t trying to tie his belt in a way that would take attention off said knob but Anton wisely kept his mouth shut. “I should be back in an hour with luck. Maybe two if the Maker hates me.”

“I could threaten to pee on something if you’re not back?” Anton offered.

“Please don’t. I rather you not be the latest topics of gossip in the barracks. I keep having nightmares of someone finding Isabela’s old friend fiction.”

“The Arishok or the dragon?”

Cullen shuddered. “Both.” Back in order, he pressed a quick kiss to Anton’s cheek before leaving the office. Anton sighed at yet another lost moment and idly wondered if the real world had always been such a fucking pain. Oh well, he had a roommate to visit anyway.


	7. Chapter Seven

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anton has a chat, a nightmare and avoids both in a relatively healthy way. For a given definition of health.

The Fade never changed. Well, it changed all the time, but that weird feeling, the sense of everything being a dream and yet intensely real, that never changed. It had been hard to distinguish between dreams and reality in the beginning, his dreams using his memories to create a near exact world as the one he left behind when visiting. Repeated exposure, however, was making it much easier to distinguish between the worlds.

Well, that and the glowing Fade spirit currently looking at him with an expression that Anton, only slightly spitefully, classified as petulant.

“So, I’m unused to being on his side of the conversation. I’m unsure how to start,” Anton said, sticking his hands into his pockets. “I’m going to channel my mother here for a minute and ask you what just happened.”

“He was a coward,” Valor spit out the word like it was poison. For him, it probably was. “Cowards do not deserve to live.”

“Yeah, now here’s the problem,” Anton said, smile sharp like a dagger, “when you use MY body to pull shit like that, I kinda get a say in the whole “deserving to live” thing.”

“You would defend him?” Valor said, incredulously and with a hint of anger.

“Not defending,” Anton corrected, careful to keep his voice calm. The last thing he wanted was to work Valor up even more. “I’m just telling you that you can’t execute someone just because they don’t meet your ideals.”

Valor scoffed, “Your kind harbor a disease in them and you tell me that I should not try to root it out? What use is cowardice to your race? I would be doing you all a kindness!”

“Cowardice is sometimes the only thing keeping the world from descending into chaos,” Anton retorted. “Wars aren’t started by cowards, they’re started by those thinking of glory and valor.”

“They are the ones who win wars,” Valor shot back. “Cowards stand back and seek to eliminate any threat to them by any means. What use is that man who dared to strike us from behind? What is he, but a burden to the world?”

“I don’t know,” Anton admitted, “but neither do you. Just because he was a coward then doesn’t mean he’ll be one all his life. People deserve more chances than you’re willing to give them.”

Valor paused. “Your world is strange,” he said finally. “Your mages devise cowardly tests to prove your mettle rather than with skill. Your Templars abuse the power they hold over the weak and your Chantry hide behind their soldiers like a child behind their parents. How do you stand it?”

“How do you stand living in the Fade?” Anton shrugged. “We were both born to it. You’re not entirely wrong though. There are some cowards who deserve to die, but I won’t be the hand to deliver it. Not unless I feel it’s well deserved.”

“I… will attempt to control myself more,” Valor said reluctantly. “But if I see such cowardice again, I cannot say I will be able to hold myself back.”

“Maybe try challenging them to duel rather than… death, you know?” Anton spread out his hands. “I’m sure we can come to middle ground. What if I hurt them a bit? Maybe make them cry?”

“I do not understand how that would make me feel better.”

“Nothing? You strike me as the sort of man who’d like tears. More the fool me then. Anyway, please avoid the glowing. I prefer Arianne’s blades to remain outside my body.”

“I would kill her before she did so.”

“Again with the killing! That’s it, you and I are going through some NONLETHAL methods of subduing people. I may not be able to stop you from manifesting, but I’ll be damned if you killed someone with my body.” Anton took out his daggers and twirled them, shifting into a battle stance, shifting his weight from foot to foot. 

Valor held out his hands a greatsword emerged out of the mist, settling into his hands like it was made for him. And knowing Valor, it probably was. “Fight with Valor!”

“That was the plan. Let’s dance, chuckles.”

x-x-x-x-x-x

The meeting with the Inquisitor took longer than Cullen would have liked and coordinating efforts made the process even longer but at least it was finally over and he was returning to his office with more on his mind than just continuing where he left off with Anton. Always something new with the Inquisition. He wasn’t looking forward to brushing his husband off again but Cullen knew he wouldn’t be able to enjoy himself with his orders hanging over his head. Maker, it would take them forever to bypass the Sulphur fields in the Western Approach and he needed to get started as quickly as possible. Anton, yet again, would have to be pushed back.

His office was empty when he came in and he climbed up the ladder to check his bedroom. Sure enough, there Anton was, lying flat on his back on the bed, hands clasped in front of his chest and legs crossed at the ankles. It was his preferred resting post to let Cullen know he was visiting the Fade. Cullen still chafed at the idea that his husband was just traipsing back and forth in the Fade while they were trying to close the Rifts, but Anton had knocked that out of him soon enough. Literally, Cullen remembered with a wince.

“Anton,” he said softly, approaching him carefully. He reached out with a hand to lightly touch his arm-

Cullen yelped as he was grabbed and tossed onto the bed, a heavy weight landing on his waist while a sharp blade made itself uncomfortably familiar with his throat. He held his hands out to his sides, fighting back the urge to struggle, knowing that would just make it worse. “Anton,” Cullen got out, trying to make his throat move as little as possible as it scraped the blade, “it’s just me.”

The dagger didn’t move.

“It’s okay, love,” Cullen said hoarsely, wincing as he felt the dagger drew a drop of blood. “You’re in Skyhold, you’re safe. You left the Fade months back, Cormac brought you home, remember?” He grinned with an edge of hysteria, “He’s the one with the knife kink, so could you please put it away?”

For a second, Anton’s expression didn’t change from the cold one it had settled into but the next, it melted like ice on a hot day. “Oh balls, I’m so sorry!” Anton sounded horrified, knife vanishing as quickly as it appeared as he went from pinning him down to helping him up and running frantic hands over his face and neck. “Did I get you? Are you bleeding? I didn’t cut off your lips, did I?”

“No, I’m- wait, you’ve done that before?” Cullen couldn’t help the squeak. Sometimes, he tended to forget he was sleeping next to someone who occasionally killed people while asleep.

“It was an accident and not even my fault,” Anton said dismissively but his eyes were still tight with concern. “Sorry, Valor and I were sparring and then you-”

“It’s alright,” Cullen interrupted, pinning Anton’s hands to his cheeks to steady him. “I’m fine. I should be the one who’s sorry: I know better than to wake you like that when you’re dreaming.”

“That doesn’t matter, I should have better control over myself than this,” Anton worried at his lip and Cullen couldn’t help but smile at that one nervous tic Anton never tried to hide from him. The smile faded when Anton clambered off him and walked over to the dresser, yanking open a drawer to pull out a shirt.

“Anton, I mean it,” Cullen said, getting up to follow him. “You were asleep and I startled you. Come on, you’ve done the same thing to me before and I actually have hurt you.”

“Nightmares are different,” Anton said, voice as tense as his back as he did up the laces, gritting his teeth when his hands shook. Another thing to blame on the Fade. “One more inch and you’d have been bleeding out. I can’t afford slips like that.”

“Then we won’t keep daggers in the bed,” Cullen said, but he knew that wouldn’t work. Anton couldn’t sleep without a dagger nearby. “Or we’ll keep them somewhere a bit safer.” He caught Anton’s shoulders and winced when he felt him flinch. “Just come back to bed for now.”

“I…I can’t,” Anton said, jaw tight. “Not yet anyway. You go to bed, I… I need some air.” With that, he walked over to one of many holes in Cullen’s wall and slid out. In the seconds it took for Cullen to walk over, he was already gone.

Not for the first time, Cullen cursed the Inquisition and wondered when the good fight would stop costing him the things he was fighting for.

x-x-x-x-x-x

The cold air did little to cool down the flush in his cheeks, but he supposed that he wasn’t making it easy either. He swung along one of the poles holding the scaffolding together and propelled himself up to the next level, grasping the length of the pole to keep him from tipping back. He reached for the next pole in front of him, bracing his foot against it and relishing the burn in his calf and shoulder as he supported himself with just the grip of his hand and foot for a bit before swinging to the next rod.

It kept his mind off waking up to find Cullen terrified beneath him and mere centimeters away from bleeding out on their bed.

His next jump was a little off and he grabbed the next pole to swing around and land safely on his feet. He walked across the narrow rod carefully, arms out for balance. No time to think, only to react. He jumped forward and swung along the rung below to flip in the air before catching the next one. 

“Any particular reason you’re behaving like a monkey today?” came an accented voice.  
Anton grinned down at her, hanging from the rung with just one hand, leaving the other one open to salute. “Why Cassandra! What brings you out here on this fine day?”

Cassandra raised an eyebrow, leaning forward on the ledge some feet below him. “It’s nearly dawn.”

Anton looked up and sure enough, the sky was tinted a light purple. Damn, he’d been out for a while. No wonder his arms were getting tired. “Is it now?”

“Yes, and if you don’t want tomorrow’s gossip to be about the Champion playing in the scaffolding, I would get down before the guard comes by.”

“They didn’t notice me before. I should talk to Lelianna about that actually.” Anton clambered down and backflipped onto the ledge next to her. He bowed deeply in her direction before squatting down.

“Impressive,” Cassandra said with a hint of humor. “Any reason you’re trying to put the Orlesian Harlequins to shame?”

“Just a bit of pent up energy, that’s all,” Anton shrugged. Cassandra was a friend, and a good one, but this wasn’t something he wanted to share. With anyone. “It relaxes me.”

“Jumping around in a pile of very wobbly piles of sticks is relaxing?”

“It’s not that wobbly,” he said with a grin. “Come now, you’ve met me. Do you really find it so surprising?”

“No, it suits you actually,” Cassandra said, leaning back, hand resting against the hilt of her sword, every bit the warrior even when she was relaxed. “I don’t know what happened, but you should talk to Cullen before Varric tries to cheer him up again. For what I’ve seen, the Commander doesn’t make good decisions under alcohol.”

“What makes you think it has anything to do with Cullen?” Anton asked, voice giving away nothing.

“Because I saw him last night and he only ever looks like that when it’s you,” Cassandra said, leaning a hip against the ledge and looking at him with eyes that were far too intelligent to believe the front he was putting on. God, he missed Aveline.

“I appreciate the concern, but that’s between us,” Anton said, looking out at the expanse of mountains to avoid looking at her. “I’d prefer not to talk about it.”

Cassandra made a humming sound, but it stopped there. They sat together for a while, watching the sky get brighter until the sun peeked over the horizon. “So, can you do other tricks?”

“For the right price.”

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks to Mav for giving me the push I needed to actually put this chapter up!


End file.
